


Breathless

by leiascully



Series: There Will Be Other Dances [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Breathplay, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River and the Doctor discover some additional benefits of corsetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Small spoilers for 6.07 "A Good Man Goes To War"  
> Concrit: Welcome  
> A/N: For the breathplay square on my [**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Thanks to [**coffeesuperhero**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/coffeesuperhero/)Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

"Doctor!"

He smirks to himself and strolls over to the doors. She has her own key, of course, and realistically, the TARDIS would probably open at a snap of her fingers, but River likes to make an entrance. He throws open the doors, just waiting to see what she's done this time, and River falls into his arms in a swoon.

He catches her by sheer reflex, the weight and shape of her familiar in his arms. There's not much good place to put her in the control room, but he eases her down into his lap, sitting on the floor and cradling her head. Her breathing is shallow and quick, but that seems to be a function of the corset she's laced into. He takes a moment to study her appreciatively. Her eyes pop open.

"I am never," she says in little bursts of words, "letting Jenny and Vastra talk me into this again."

"What, fighting crime in Victorian London?" He helps her up. The structure of the garment makes her even more graceful than usual, but only when she's on her feet.

"No," she says. "This costume."

"I don't know," he says, looking her over again. "Rather flattering, isn't it?"

"I find the fact that I can't breathe properly outweighs any benefits," she says, glaring at him. Her chest heaves in a distracting way. "I'm laced in so tight it's as if I haven't even got lungs. A little bit of running and I faint into your arms."

"Yes, but that was entertaining," he points out. "Usually it's the other way around. And I'm sorry, well, actually, I'm not, but it really does splendid things for your figure."

"I think Vastra and Jenny thought so too," she says, a smile playing about the corners of her lips. "Ah, there's your jealous face."

"When Vastra knew you were a woman, I knew it was trouble," he says sulkily.

"I haven't taken them up on that offer yet," she points out. "One day, perhaps."

"Fifty-first century flexibility," he mutters to no one in particular. She chuckles and leans against him.

"Oh, my love, you make it so easy," she says. "Ah. I'm a bit light-headed again. Perhaps we ought to sit down."

He escorts her to one of the comfy chairs. "Better?"

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "Interesting."

"Interesting," he echoes. "Good or bad?"

"Could be very, very good," she murmurs. He knows that voice well. She slides to the floor, gazing up at him from between his knees. Her fingers make their way up the inseam of his trousers. He can't help looking at the way her breasts heave when she breathes in those short gasps. It's an elaborate costume she's wearing, the corset shaping her from hip to chest so that her breasts are propped up on top of it. There's some sort of thin chemise under the corset that covers her cleavage and shoulders, but just barely, and under it all, long flowy skirts.

"Ah," he says. "Shall I?" He leans forward, reaching for the laces of the corset, which has the happy side effect of bringing his face closer to her cleavage, but she leans back.

"More fun with it on," she says.

"Not being able to breathe?" he says doubtfully.

"You make me dizzy to start with," she points out. "Just this once, we'll try it. You know the idea has its attractions."

"Flirt," he says, distracted by the slow movement of her hands up and down his thighs. He was aroused from the moment she fell into his arms and she knows it. She smiles at him and tips herself forward to rub her cheek against his knee.

"What do you say, Doctor?" she purrs.

"You know the answer is always yes," he tells her.

"Then I suggest you take your clothes off," she says, unlacing his shoes. She pulls them off and tosses them across the control room. His socks follow as he fumbles with his shirt buttons. She undoes his trousers and starts to tug them down his legs. He hastily unsnaps his braces, lifting his hips to help her, and she drags his underwear off as well. Before he can do much else, she's kissing her way up the inside of his thigh, all hot breath and gentle scraping of teeth against his skin. He has to brace his feet against the deck to keep from writhing too much when she takes his prick in her mouth. Her tongue swirls across his head and then she's releasing him again.

"Sorry, love," she gasps. "Maybe later, when I'm out of this thing. I'd prefer not to choke."

"I'd really prefer that too," he tells her, giving her a hand up. His shirt and jacket are in a pile on the deck with the rest of his clothes. It's his turn to kneel, to work her knickers down her thighs, planting kisses where he wishes, his head up underneath her heavy skirts. He'd help her out of those too, but the tie is tucked up underneath the corset, so they'll have to make do. She makes little gasping moans and he can't resist sliding two fingers inside her and sucking gently on her clit to make her breath come even shorter before he inches back out from under her clothes.

"In the chair, I think," she says, even so short a sentence broken up into panted-out words. He pushes himself up and into the chair, one arm around her waist to pull her down onto his lap and one hand working her skirts out of the way. She kneels over him, layers of fabric mounded up between them, and her breasts are right there; he can't resist pushing his face between them, kissing and nuzzling. Her nipples stand out through the layers of fabric and he pinches one gently and she moans again.

"Oh, yes," she says, two words, two breaths. She reaches under her skirts to find his prick and guides him into her. She's gloriously hot and wet around him and it's all he can do to steady his hips and keep from thrusting up into her, but she's breathing fast enough anyway - he doesn't want to knock the air out of her. He presses himself down into the cushions of the chair, letting her set the pace. She doesn't have the lungs to scream today, but she's moaning, little needy sounds that run together. It makes it all the more difficult to stay still; he wants to bury himself in her, to roll her over and feel her body under him, to bring her to ecstasy again and again at his hands.

"Needed this, did you?" he asks, holding her against him and kissing her breasts. He strokes her back, and it's strange to feel the closures of the corset instead of her skin, but interesting too. Her skirts lie over their thighs like a blanket and they're both sweating, skin slick against skin, but he doesn't want to stop.

"Thought...about...you," she pants. "All day."

"While you were hunting people?" he says skeptically.

She grins at him. "Justice...turns...me on." Her eyes are a bit unfocused.

"You're all right?" he asks with an effort.

"Yessss," she says, "Let...you...know."

He loses himself in her then, in the sound and smell and sight of her, his River, who chose him out of all of time and space. Her moans are so fast and so high that it's like listening to a ancient cd of an aria that won't stop skipping, punctuation marks of pleasure in the air. Every noise she makes only makes him want her more until he's shaking with the effort of not pushing back, of not holding her hips to his and making himself dizzy.

"Doc...tor," she gasps. "Too...much." She sways a little on his lap.

He tears his attention away from her breasts and pulls frantically at the laces of the corset. Nothing he can do about the hooks at the moment, but he can loosen her up. She's still riding him, her thighs trembling, and he knows she's close to the edge, too close to give up, and he pulls faster, unlacing her frantically. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open, panting for air, and his fingers fly up her back, trying to give her space to breathe, and at last, at last, she takes an immense deep breath and shivers all around him and collapses onto his shoulder. He comes with a rush and a shout, his arms wrapped around her, and they sit there together for long moments, catching their breath. He's not sure if she's fainted again. Her chest is still heaving. As soon as his fingers stop shaking, he's unhooking the corset, freeing her from it. Her ribs are covered with pink marks from the boning of the garment and he rubs them gently. She stirs and sits up, knocking the stiff shell of the corset to the floor.

"It's all right, my love," she says, smiling, and she takes so deep a breath that the fabric of the chemise pulls taut over her body. "That was certainly an experience."

"And you're all right now?" he asks anxiously.

"Oh, more than," she says with satisfaction. "You can feel proud, sweetie - you literally took my breath away."

"I was a bit concerned towards the end," he tells her. "I thought you might go all blue."

She smooths his hair away from his face. "You were perfect."

"What was it like?" he asks.

She thinks for a moment. "Dizzy. Intense. Felt like danger, only sexier. Even more than usual." She raises an eyebrow at him. "We may have to experiment further."

"Next time find a quick-release corset," he says, and she laughs.

"You always have the answers," she says, and kisses him.


End file.
